To Do List or Not To Do List, That is the Congestion

 January and February are months of True Drudgery for me. My duties and tasks are overwhelming.  Is it this way for everyone, specifically in Jan-Feb?  

In 2024 I wrote myself a Jan-Feb To Do list, I guess so I wouldn’t be surprised by anything, such as:

• It’s January 15th!  Have you paid your quarterly estimated taxes? Due today!

• Church stats (this is actually 9 separate tasks). Forget the Feb GA deadline, YOUR deadline is January 26th!

• People are clamoring for retreat info.  Better send that email soon!

• Learn the music for the retreat!  Better practice some more!  And get that song lyric sheet done and printed.

• Why are the Christmas decorations not in the attic?  Eh?!

• Where is your email inviting voters in your precinct to the fundraiser for which the deadline is in 10 days?  Better get on that!

And so on.  

I completed these tasks.

There are 55 individual items on my list for these two months.  So far I have completed 24 of them.  That’s just the regular stuff.  I have also had a $#!t-ton of stuff to do in the grassroots category, all rushed and desperate-feeling, and not part of the 55 tasks.

I feel competent to do each task individually, but not competent to complete all of them during this short time period.  I even would enjoy doing some of them, if they weren’t bunched together.  

Most of these are not yet finished.  The deadline looms.

The Common Household Husband is facing huge stresses, real and equally overwhelming.

Add to this the anxiety of just living in these times.  

And the challenges that come naturally with aging.  

And the tasks that come with our paid jobs.  

And winter storms.  

And prolonged cold.  

And the grocery store always being out of raw-fresh-not-frozen turkey breast to roast at home.

Another 2 inches of snow overnight.
Windchill in the negatives.

Had to shovel a carveout to reach
the mailbox.

These are things that even an abundant supply of tea and dark chocolate cannot cure.

Sooner or later something in the Common Household was bound to explode.  Two nights ago it did.  Both members of this household uttered harsh words.  Used nasty tones to each other.  A door was slammed.  Both members of this household went to bed angry with each other.

The next morning, thanks to both members of this household being thinking and feeling human beings, we said our apologies to each other, and acknowledged that the unbearable stress is getting to us.  

This is all while we are adequately fed, clothed, and sheltered.  I cannot imagine the trauma of those being beaten down by our own government, literally beaten, shackled, threatened, tossed around, separated from family, racially profiled, subjected to illness, disappeared.  And murdered. All that is brought to us by several unfeeling, greedy, racist human beings, and moreover by their enablers who hope to profit.   Never forget that human beings are capable of what they are doing.  

All this is to say, please take care of yourselves and each other.  The Common Household Husband and I said out loud that we must recognize when the stresses are getting overwhelming for each of us, and take extra precautions not to act or react harshly.  

Please do gather in groups of people who will care for and look out for each other.  

Please do art.  

Please do music and singing.  Keep a song in your pocket. Here is mine for this year.

Find beauty.  Encourage each other.  As the scripture I heard today says:

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.  - Philippians 4:8

Pie should be on that list in Philippians 4:8.

Ring the bells that still can ring

All you life-loving folks who are celebrating the legislation in Texas, go ahead and rejoice that you’ve gotten your way.  Sing your hallelujahs.

Rejoice.

Your approval of vigilante action against women reminds me of the East German Stasi.  Look over your shoulder often because people are watching.  Be sure to turn your neighbor in, and collect your money.  Betrayal’s the name of the game for you now. If you don’t like your neighbor you can do something about it now. Anyone can betray another with a kiss and collect 30 pieces of silver.  

Betray.

If you seriously wanted to prevent abortions, you would pass universal health care in a big hurry.  You would make contraception free.  You would make good prenatal care free.  You would extend the child care tax credit so that it could be at least a little easier to raise a child. (And you would not send unvaccinated children into schools without masks like lambs to the slaughter.)  

Slaughter.

My friends know my husband and I have three lovely, wonderful, grown children.  What they probably don’t know is that I had four pregnancies.  Here's how the first one went. Missing my period, I went to our HMO, where they did a pregnancy test.  I was about eight weeks pregnant.  But all I can remember is that the doctor shouted at the cowering staff.  He seemed very angry.  Dr. Angry. He examined me, told me nothing, and got me out of there before I used up too much of his time.

Shout.  

A few days after my initial doctor visit, I found myself bleeding through pads at a rate of several per hour.  I called Dr. Angry, who told us to go to the emergency room at our assigned hospital.  We waited several hours in the overcrowded ER waiting room.  The bathroom was disgusting, filthy, with the trash can overflowing. I contributed much to the pile of trash. Soon I ran out of pads. I was not in pain, but I could not manage all the blood.  

Bleed.

Remembering this makes me shiver.  I did not really understand what was happening to me.  My main focus was the overwhelming bleeding. So much uncontrollable blood.

Shiver.

Once I finally got out of the waiting room and in to see a doctor (not Dr. Angry), things were a little better, although I continue to bleed profusely.  Every staff person treated me with kindness and professionalism.  Away from the ER waiting room, the hospital was quiet and clean.  They did some kind of test (a sonogram?), and explained that there was no evidence of a fetus.  The doctors explained that I would need to go under anesthesia to have a procedure, essentially to empty out my uterus.  Okay.  I prayed.  I felt the nearness of God as they wheeled me into the surgery room.

Empty.

Afterwards, I remember lying in a hospital bed, recovering from the procedure.  They had given me a drug to make my uterus contract to be sure all the detritus would be expelled.  That was painful.  Then a staff person, not a doctor, perhaps a nurse, but probably not, entered.  This person asked me, “Did you want this pregnancy?”  I sobbed and could not answer.  I only nodded.  Yes, I wanted this pregnancy.

Sob.

I did not realize until later that the question was probably designed to explore whether I had tried to abort the pregnancy on my own.  I have no idea if that person was asking for her own judgment of me, or if my answer became part of my medical history.  A miscarriage looks very much like a self-abortion attempt.  I can’t think of a way to distinguish one from another.  

Judge.

As far as I can remember, I was offered no counseling.  I can’t remember how much more time I spent in the hospital.  I recovered at our apartment, in the loving care of my husband.  I had told everyone at work about my pregnancy, and now I had the embarrassment of telling them about my miscarriage.  I asked myself what I had done wrong that caused the miscarriage.  Was it that time I dove into the swimming pool?  Was it something I ate?  Something propelled me to place the blame on myself.   In our culture, it must be the woman who is at fault.

Blame.

Every person who helps a woman undergoing a miscarriage will now be at risk of the new judicial system delivered by the Stasi of your state.  (Yes, vigilantism is likely coming in your state, too.) This also puts at risk the woman who is miscarrying.  Will that woman dare to ask for help?  Take a bleeding miscarrying pregnant woman to the hospital and you could be accused.  

Accuse.

Tonight when I try to pray, I will think of the women who need an abortion, for any and all the reasons a woman needs an abortion.  I will think of the dreadful Texas Stasi culture that this law creates.  But most of all I will think about the women who will have miscarriages and those around them who will be falsely accused under this so very, very pro-life law.

Vote.

We asked for signs 

the signs were sent: 

the birth betrayed 

the marriage spent 

Yeah, the widowhood 

of every government -- 

signs for all to see. 

….

Ring the bells that still can ring 

Forget your perfect offering 

There is a crack in everything 

That's how the light gets in. 

- Leonard Cohen, Anthem

Hope and Grieving
by Matt Sesow

Stopping in Loneliness on a Pandemic Evening

 

Whose love this is I think I know.
Their feelings are quite distant, though;
Though depth and distance don't relate
When joy and laughter hold their glow.

With distance, strength and sorrow find
A waxing, waning. Love can bind
Across a screen, a show, a call,
But cannot tell your truth of mind.

Inadequate, how words can be
Unable to write poetry,
How gestures, touches, simple modes,
Tell more than frail writers like me.

My love is lonely, dark and deep.
But buried still, I can but weep,
With miles to go to reach your keep,
With miles to go to reach your keep.

A poem for the covid-19 era

by Younger Daughter

A few Fridays ago, Younger Daughter was having a difficult day, one of those days where the pressures of the world seemed too much.  On days like that, add pandemic restrictions, and loneliness sets in.  For some reason, we couldn’t talk at that moment, so I emailed her this:  “Do you know how much we love you?  We love you to the moon and back!”

In less than an hour, she replied with the above poem.  I think it captures the difficulty we are all in right now, at how to express our care and fondness for our loved ones over video chat.  Love can bind us together across a screen, and I am grateful that at least we have that technology.  

This happened a few days after a family Poetry Slam - a gathering (my siblings,  and their young adult children and ours) over zoom where we each read a poem (no longer than 2 minutes reading time!).  There was not anything slam-like about it, but we had a great time. I recommend this activity.  So poetry was on our minds.

Note:  As you may have guessed, the poet is in debt to “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost.

Sacred Use for a Kippah

Greater love has no one than this: that she wear a mask when venturing into a public place during a novel coronavirus outbreak.  My mask protects you, and your mask protects me.   

- The Book of Admonitions 15:12-13

And you shall fashion a face mask out of any cloth you find in the deep recesses of your abode.  Lo, you shall unearth the sewing box from its hiding place of the past 20 years and you shall discover bands of elastic that appear to still be stretchy, even though they be as old as Methuselah.  Praise the Lord.

The Lord will place upon your heart the shape of a face mask; God will write upon your mind the shape of a kippah.  Behold, the shapes are nearly the same.  And you will remember the way in which you ordered far more kippot than necessary, for each of your children’s bnai mitzvot, because they had to be ordered in batches of 144.  The Spirit of God will lead you to your office, on top of that filing cabinet, where you will find the plastic bag that, lo and behold, is still filled with kippot from those blessed events. 

And you shall engage in all kinds of craft, just as in the great tradition of Oholiab and Bezalel, including cutting, tying knots, stapling, and taping.  You shall find a youtube video to get you started.  Thus shall you create a face mask so that you may keep the ordinances and statutes concerning the protection of your community from the covid-19 virus.  And God will declare this to be a holy use of the kippah.

- The Book of Exertions 5:23-31

* * * * * *

I made a passable face mask out of kippot from my children’s bar & bat mitzvahs.

This is not meant to be a mask for medical staff.  I made this because the Governor of Pennsylvania announced that in the event that we ordinary folk must go to a public place, such as the grocery store, we should each and every one of us wear a mask.  It's impossible to buy a mask these days, so we must be creative and make our own.  Having a homemade mask does not mean we should go traipsing around and mingling in public places, but it makes it safer for those around us when we must go out in public. 

Here’s how I did it.

This youtube video gave me my starting point.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcUbHULTja0&fbclid=IwAR0BpNTpHD6G1mYGcKsZ3XFQIraub1j8pjT8hHrLeELsDjPelJ2sWrXCmI4

(I am too tired to figure out how to embed the video.  If the link doesn't work, go to youtube and try searching on "Homemade Kippah Masks Otto Dube".)

Materials used for one face mask:

a kippah (yarmulke, skull cap)

two 10 inch pieces of elastic

standard-size paper clip

scissors

stapler

masking tape or freezer tape

A kippah is a yarmulke, the head covering that many Jews wear.  For a bar/bat mitzvah, it is customary to order kippot, one for every guest, with the budding adult’s name stamped on the inside.  We have a number of these left over from the ceremonies of our three children.  The top layer is some kind of nylon or satin fabric; the inside layer is something sort of cottony.

Once I found our leftover kippot, I washed a few, along with some cotton napkins that also might be made into face masks.  The kippot survived the washing machine just fine.   I believe this is a small miracle.

I tried the technique in the video with a kippah from my daughter’s bat mitzvah.  The trim around the edge made the resulting mask bunch in the wrong places.  And the rubber bands I had were very uncomfortable and did not fit correctly. 

So I started over, and set to work to remove the gold braid trim.  This was easier than I thought it would be.  After a few snips, I was able to pull the trim right off.  The rest of the kippah remained intact.  Whew!

Using some very old elastic I found in my ancient sewing box in the basement, I then measured a 10 inch length of elastic, and then a second 10-inch piece.  I put the two ends together, and tied a simple knot.  And again for the second piece of elastic, resulting in two loops of elastic, like a rubber band, but better sized and more comfortable.

Sorry it's blurry.  You put the two ends together,
wrap 'em around your finger, and pull through to make
a knot.  If you are Scout you will know the
name of this knot, but I do not.

The resulting knot.  Blurry, I know.

I then used this elastic loop as in the video – I found the inside seam in the kippah, placed the elastic loop there, folded over the edge of the kippah, and stapled it.  Just one staple seems sufficient.  And repeat on the opposite end of the kippah.

Voila!

Then I took a standard-sized paper clip, bent it straight, and then bent it some more to put a little bump in the middle.  This will be to bend over your nose, for a better fit.

I put the paper clip at the top of the kippah-mask on the inside.  I taped it there with freezer tape.  We will see how the tape fares goes when I put this mask in the washing machine for re-use.

In this photo, the top of the face mask is to the left.

Then I folded over the kippah fabric on top of the paper clip, and put in four staples.

The mask is done.

You put the kippah over your nose and mouth, attaching the elastic behind your ears.  Press down on the paper clip to make it tight with your nose. 

Take the decorative trim that you removed from the kippah and find a new decorative use for it.

Press gently on the paper clip portion of the mask
to help the mask fit closely over your nose.
It won't be a completely tight seal.  

New use for decorative trim

I wore this mask when we went tonight to pick up pizza.  This was the first time I had been out of my neighborhood in more than a week.  This was our first time getting take-out food. We've been cooking in, mostly.  The mask worked fine, and it's now ready to be washed for re-use.

Next task:  making a mask out of an old t-shirt.

Cri de Coeur

 

Art I created at the NextChurch conference in Baltimore, February 2018

We are fine here.  But we are not exactly fine.

I’m not even physically involved in moving my Mom from assisted living to skilled nursing care, and still I am exhausted.  I am emotionally worn out by trying to calm her down, at the same time as the world’s dread presses in on me.  It’s like 2016 all over again, except more fear-filled and more compressed. 

When I tell Mom that a worldwide virus pandemic has caused the governors of every state in which her children live to issue stay-at-home orders, and that’s why we can’t be there to help her make this move, she doesn’t believe me. She thinks we are staying away on purpose, as some kind of punishment.  Her suspicion of our motives is hard to take.

In tonight’s virtual church meeting, our devotional included the disciples in the boat during the storm (Mark 4:35-41).  The boat was unstable; the waves were exponential; the disciples were terrified.

In this household, we are privileged to have most everything we need.  Except for the ability to go hold the hand of our frightened, angry, confused elderly relatives and friends.  I know that lots of people are in this boat of fear and trembling with us.

Our devotional then had these words:

Do not fear, for I am with you,

    do not be afraid, for I am your God;

I will strengthen you, I will help you,

    I will uphold you with my victorious right hand.

§  Isaiah 41:10

Damn it, I WILL fear.  I am fearful.  Yes, Jesus, I have little faith. I am the disciple trembling in the boat that is filling with water.   It is those next words I need to hear, over and over.  “For I am with you.”

When the 2016 election was done, some people said, “Don’t worry.  It will be okay.”  No.  It has not been okay, and it is not okay.  Don’t tell me, right now, that it will be okay, or that we will make it through this, or that we are strong.  That may be true later on. But right now, I just need to hear, “I am with you.  It’s okay for you to feel this fear and anger.  It’s okay for you to grieve what is not to be.  This is indeed a terrible and sad time.”

I will cry and cry and cry, just like I did in November 2016.  I will cry for that leader who seems to have no capacity to cry, who seems to have no understanding of the suffering of others.  I will cry for those of our leaders who are too busy doing a good job leading in a horrible situation to be able to allow themselves to cry.  I will cry for my mother, who has no person who loves her to be with her as she moves to the necessary but difficult next stage of her life.  I will cry for those who lost their jobs and don’t know how to manage tomorrow.  I will cry for those who are endangering themselves to keep the rest of us alive.  I will cry for the homeless in a stay-at-home-order world.   I will cry for those who were lonely before all this began.  I will cry for my children, and all children.   I will cry for you.

I didn’t know it, in November 2016, but these are the things I was crying about, when I sobbed every day for three days straight.

Tomorrow I will stop crying and will get up and work and cook and eat and laugh and sing while I wash my hands and enjoy the company of the three who live here now.  We will be fine. But tonight I will cry my heart out.  For I am with you.

Love is a bit blurry at the moment, but
love is everywhere

To Keep in Mind

Some quotes NOT by Martin Luther King, Jr. 

Anger doesn’t help you win. 

            – Trevor Noah

But you should not have gloated over your brother

    on the day of his misfortune.

- Obadiah verse 12

“There’s a danger on the internet that you think you’re accomplishing something,” he says. “So you see an article about a disease and retweet it and think ‘It’s cured now!’ And you’ve fooled yourself into thinking that you’ve done something productive.”

-Judd Apatow, interview in New York Times with Maureen Dowd.

Note: I do not know who Judd Apatow is or why he should be famous.